


just look and you will see

by smallblueandloud



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Wolf Rose Tyler, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Telepathy, also!! i finally wrote donna!! go me!!!!, can essbie write a dw fic without a companion yelling at the doctor? the jury is still out, for the sake of clarity: yes rose dies in this fic. yes i am very sorry, quarantine content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallblueandloud/pseuds/smallblueandloud
Summary: He tries not to argue with her, not after that first day. He tries to help her as best he can. It’s a privilege, to witness this miracle, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being grateful that she’s letting him help. Letting him be around her, letting him experience these last few months with her. The final flare of a candle before it goes out.The galaxy is improving. The universe is improving. Inch by inch, minute by minute, Rose is making lives better. She’s improving situations. She’s helping people in a way that no one else ever could.He’ll never stop being grateful for knowing her. She is precious, a completely unique star that will never be seen again. He’s watching her go supernova, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s the most terrible thing he’s ever seen. It’s Rose, and she’s burning out.(or, rose takes in the power of bad wolf one last time. the doctor observes.)
Relationships: Mickey Smith & Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor & Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	just look and you will see

**Author's Note:**

> because i am paranoid: PLEASE BE AWARE THAT ROSE DIES IN THIS FIC. SHE DIES OFFSCREEN, BUT WE (AND THE DOCTOR) WATCH HER AS SHE GRADUALLY DIMINISHES, AND SHE DIES IN BETWEEN SCENES. i am so, so sorry in advance.
> 
> in case you wanted to cry MORE, the title is from adele's "remedy", and yes, it does enhance the reading experience to listen to it whilst reading.

She refuses to let it go.

He begs, and pleads, and pulls out figures and pages of data to scare her into letting go of the power. He tries everything he’s ever learned about manipulating humans and still she stands firm.

He should have known this was coming. He should have known so much compassion could never stand idly by. He should have known that the burden of everyone in the universe would be too tempting.

She’s glowing. She’s been glowing for hours, now, since he found her collapsed on the floor of the console room, the grates pulled open. The TARDIS had been singing, mournful and slow. _Be careful,_ she was saying. _You won’t take it away from her so easily this time._

_Be careful, because she won’t let this go._

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? The first time he’d taken the power of Bad Wolf away from her, she’d _let_ him, knowing somehow that it was the right thing to do. Probably she saw the future, saw _this_ future, and wanted things to work out this way.

It didn’t hurt that she trusted his every word, back then, too.

But Rose has grown since Satellite Five. She has learned his ways, sees him so much more clearly than she did when she was nineteen and he was old, armored in leather, always ready with snarky comments and a grin.

This him can’t hide his emotions so easily. Especially not from her. He was born loving her, reborn into the most human he has _ever_ been for loving her. He can’t hide anything from her, can’t fool her, can’t pretend to be the timeless hero he was before. She’s older, too, not young and wide-eyed anymore.

He can’t take this power away from her, because she chose to take it, and will choose to keep it, no matter what happens.

He isn’t that strong. He won’t be able to bear it the way she can. He’s never been able to bear this kind of pain - he’s never had to. His griefs have been wide and all-encompassing, oceans of sorrows that he lets himself drown in. Strangers, families, civilizations: he mourns all of them, but it’s rare that he knows anyone well enough to _miss_ them.

But every time she gets hurt, he feels it like his own wound. Every time she cries, he feels unmade. Every time she protests against injustice, every time she saves people, every time she risks everything - he feels it all. He is weak, reduced to a human, because he has changed to be more like her, and he will not be able to bear this.

Perhaps that’s why this hurts so much. Her pain, he feels like his own. He’s been arguing with her for an hour, now, trying to tell her why what she’s doing is wrong, and it’s hurting her. The power is pulsing in her mind, trying to overcome her, and it’s hurting her. And he can feel it all.

She needs him to _support_ her, not do whatever the hell he’s doing now.

“Rose,” he says, quietly, after she turns away from him, huddling into herself, retreats from the conversation.

“Rose-” he says, and reaches out to rest his hand on her shoulder. “Rose, I don’t- Rose, you don’t know how much this is going to hurt. This is going to be more painful than anything you have ever experienced before. This is going to rip you apart at the seams. There’s a reason why no one’s done this before, why no one’s ever taken this power and done anything with it. You will help people, yes, but you’re going to die doing it. Are you- Rose, are you ready for that?”

She turns back to him. The glow is retreating, back through her skin and into whatever part of her is _Rose,_ self-sacrificing and utterly dedicated to helping people. There are tears on her cheeks. Whatever part of him isn’t consumed by utterly selfish horror - he’s going to lose her, she’s going to die, she’s going to throw away the _ninety_ or so years they have left, already so short, on an utterly foolish stunt that will leave him alone again - wants to reach out to her, fold her into his arms and tell her the words he’s been swallowing back for months.

Years, if he’s being honest. Ever since she held his hand in a basement, facing down ghosts on Christmas Eve with Charles Dickens, he’s been holding these words back.

He should say them. She needs them. She’s doing the most selfless thing he’s ever witnessed, and he can’t even give her comfort.

“I’m ready,” she says. She looks terrified. She looks young and brave and oh-so-alone. She looks, he thinks, the most human she has ever looked. “I’m ready.”

* * *

It starts simply enough. She spends long hours sitting in the console room and staring at nothing, at full attention, silently shifting the currents in the sea of time. It’s different from last time, he thinks, at least slightly - she doesn’t control the TARDIS, at least not in major ways. The TARDIS never goes anywhere, never makes odd noises or bursts her doors open. She’s - the TARDIS, that is, but also Rose - oddly quiet, in fact. No dematerialization. No speeches about Daleks. No attention for the present time, or the present place, or he himself, even.

(Except- except he’s started to lose his way, the way he hasn’t done since his second body, before he sternly told the TARDIS that it was rude to get people lost. Sometimes, for instance, the way to the kitchen will rearrange, take him through the jungle room and the ballpit room.

It’s Rose - of course it is. She’s spent hours over their years together complaining about those specific rooms, and how their only purpose seemed to be to confuse her. _Ha, ha, very funny,_ he thinks, looking up at the ceiling and trying not to grin. Because- through all of this, she still has her personality. She is still herself, and somewhere inside of her is the energy for humor. That is a gift he won’t take for granted, not now.)

It’s hard on her, of course. Her eyes glow for hours at a time and they always eventually go out like a candle, blown out by a sudden gust of wind. Every time, she ends up collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Sometimes, her eyes glow brighter, and she raises her hand, the way she did to make Daleks dissolve into motes of golden light. Those make her even more exhausted, even though normal days are bad enough. He’s learned to be waiting near her holding a blanket, learned to carry her to her room, tuck her in, turn out the light.

She sleeps for hours and hours, days at a time, more than any healthy human would, and then walks out and does it again.

They don’t leave the time vortex. She’s doing more good than even he ever could, and it’s his job to support her through it. He passes the time doing repairs and watching the TARDIS monitor. She and Rose may be separate this time, but she’s certainly aware of everything Bad Wolf is accomplishing.

She pulls up information on dictators, genocides, wars, corrupt heads of corporations. As he watches, day by day, the articles are replaced. All the weapons disappeared in a burst of golden light. The dictator exhaled golden dust and collapsed, a day after taking power. Violent revolutionaries found it easier to find the right targets, hurt fewer innocents. Release power into the hands of the people.

It’s harder than just making things disappear and changing temperaments, he knows. Rose is manipulating the fabric of time. More importantly, she’s doing it _right._ Pulling a single thread here or dropping a single stitch there could spell the end of everything. Poets still have to live. Sometimes more good comes out of darkness than would come out of light. Who can she save? Who must she leave behind?

He’s never been good at strategy, never been good at chess. He’s only very clever, a good short-term solution to put a pause on tensions. Evict the surprise alien guest. Stop the war, at least for a night. A stop-gap to give him enough time to beg for peace.

Rose, though. She’s different from him, _better_ than him. Rose is handling the strategy every day, and she’s doing it _well._ However complicated one planet is, there’s a galaxy that is undoubtedly improved by the death of one person. She finds the simple knots, unties them. Finds the complicated ones and does as much good as she can.

Somehow, somehow, she keeps going. He knows it hurts. He sees how exhausted she is. He tries to get her to eat before she starts for the day, tries to get her to sit with him and breathe in the quiet for a little while. He knows how difficult this is. He knows it will only get worse.

In the beginning, she blows him off. She has too much to do, and besides, he knows she’s still angry at him for trying to talk her out of it. But as she gets more and more exhausted, she begins to take him up on the offers. Eats his special-recipe omelette in the mornings. Agrees to take a hot shower. Lets him dig up an old armchair, soft and supportive, and position it in the console room. The jumpseat is tough - it’s going to ruin her back.

He tries not to argue with her, not after that first day. He tries to help her as best he can. It’s a privilege, to witness this miracle, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being grateful that she’s letting him help. Letting him be around her, letting him experience these last few months with her. The final flare of a candle before it goes out.

The galaxy is improving. The universe is improving. Inch by inch, minute by minute, Rose is making lives better. She’s improving situations. She’s helping people in a way that no one else ever could.

He’ll never stop being grateful for knowing her. She is precious, a completely unique star that will never be seen again. He’s watching her go supernova, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s the most terrible thing he’s ever seen. It’s Rose, and she’s burning out.

* * *

It gets harder. Things get harder. In the beginning, she used to go for eight hours without flinching. But her stamina gradually diminishes as she grows more powerful, until she’s working in short bursts of four or five hours.

Now, when he gathers her up after a collapse, her skin is hot to the touch. It isn’t only her eyes that glow anymore - now, there is light pulsing from beneath her skin, all over. He presses his lips to the back of her hand and feels the burn for days.

She can’t recover as well, either. This sort of thing is never sustainable - she wasn’t getting back all the energy from sleep that she needed in the beginning, either - but she’s getting less and less efficient. More tired every day.

That’s not the most important part, though.

The most important part - for him, at least - is the headaches.

At first, they’re minor discomforts. At first, in fact, they’re only her back protesting against the hard material of the jumpseat. He’d had a quiet, terrible chuckle with himself about the mundanity of it all, gotten the armchair, and fixed the problem. He’d brought her small cushions in the mornings and she had smiled at him, seeming to understand what he still couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. _I will care for you. I will stand with you this whole way. There isn’t much I can do, but what I can, I will._

He has never felt so _powerless,_ even when his home burned. He thinks she might understand. He thinks it is only more of her limitless compassion that she would make the effort to understand, even in the middle of all of this.

Eventually, though, the headaches come back. He brings her hot water presses to put on the back of her neck - they stay warm all day, now, her skin hotter than the boiling water - but they do nothing. Neither does the chair. Neither does sleep, which is the miracle cure he always stands by.

It’s because it’s not physical. The headaches - more properly called migraines, since they make her a little nauseous and tip her balance, slightly, and _pound_ \- are the power rushing through her synapses at faster than the speed limit, taking turns too quickly.

He convinces her to take a day off so he can check her out in the medbay and figure this out. He explains it to her like this, with a few pointed comments about London traffic, and gets a wan smile in response.

He has no cure for this. There is no medicine that can help her. She says the compresses help, so he keeps making them, although he suspects she’s only giving him something to do.

But there’s more he can do to help.

One night, he’s reading on the couch in the library, trying and failing to stop the gears in his brain from mercilessly grinding along. He’s spent all of this time doing nothing but worrying, and he’s going to do something foolish if he doesn’t focus on something else. Just for a little while.

There’s a knock on the door. He glances up, and there she is, standing at the door and rubbing her eyes. “I need a favor,” she says, her accent stronger from exhaustion. “I can’t sleep.”

“You can’t- Rose, you pass out every day.”

“Yeah, well, my brain isn’t getting the memo. It just- it burns so _much-”_

“Come here,” he says, his heart aching, and sets the book on the side table. He wiggles his fingers, trying to get a smile. “Educated at the galactic school of masseuse training, these hands were. We’ll have your head set to rights in no time at all.”

Both of them know the headaches aren’t physical, know that this probably won’t do anything. But she needs him, is actually admitting it, and he would take a thousand years of her pain before he didn’t make his best effort.

She lays down on the couch, sets her head into his lap. He gets to work. Even though the worst of the pain isn’t physical, she still has knotted muscles in her neck, which are probably making things worse. She washed her hair that morning - he watched the wet hair steam as she sat in the console room, undoing an act of terrorism on Perason IV - so her hair is soft, untangled, easy for him to maneuver through.

Her roots are coming in. He supposes she hasn’t had the energy to think about dying it, and bites back the suggestion to do it for her. It doesn’t matter now.

She exhales, a sound of contentment that hurts with how long it’s been since he last heard it. “I knew this would help.”

“It’s helping?” he says, surprised despite his justifications. “That’s- that’s good.”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at him, although her eyes remain closed. She’s more light sensitive now, ironic since she’s frequently the brightest light in the console room, but no one ever said this would be logical.

He wants her to open her eyes, show him the warm brown eyes that he hasn’t seen in so long, but doesn’t ask. His nightmares, about golden eyes and golden tears and the burning, lancing pain of taking the power into himself - enough to make a Time Lord regenerate - aren’t her concern.

“Of course they’re my concern,” she says. His hands still.

She peels one eye open, confused, and then sits up hurriedly as she realizes it. He doesn’t even try to get her to sit back down, although he has enough presence of mind to think that frantic movement probably won’t help her head.

“I’m sorry-” she says. “‘M so sorry. It’s just- it’s been developing, and I don’t know how to stop it, and I can hear _everyone,_ and I try to block you out because I know how private you are but you’re right _here_ and-”

“Rose,” he interrupts, taking a deep breath. He should have felt her presence. He should have realized that the TARDIS is telepathic, and that Rose has absorbed part of the TARDIS, and that means she’s probably developed telepathy. But his brain has been so scattered lately- it’s been-

He stops himself from coming up with more excuses. He should have realized it, and he didn’t, and it’s hurting her. That’s his fault, full stop.

She’s doing so much. He _needs_ to be able to handle this, for her, for himself.

He needs to let her in.

“It’s okay,” he says, trying to resist the urge to shore up his defenses. “It’s- I mean, I should have realized this would happen. I’m sorry. Telepathy is a hard thing to master, especially since you’re not used to it. I can- it’s okay, I don’t mind. Come here.”

Hesitantly, carefully, she lies back down. He puts his hands back onto her scalp, cursing himself for his nerves. This is the least she deserves, and he can’t even manage it.

He shuts that down before she can see it. Instead, he focuses on taking down his usual walls, then reaches out and pulls her in.

In his mind’s eye, her mental presence is _her._ Just Rose, in the same short dungarees that she wore when they met Queen Victoria. There’s _something_ about her, though - it hurts to direct his attention at her, as though he’s looking straight at the sun.

He doesn’t recognize the feeling from the last time he was in her mind. It must be Bad Wolf.

He focuses on her anyway. She deserves his attention, and besides, it feels strangely accurate - looking at her has always felt like staring into a sun. Too bright, too warm, painful in the joy it gives him.

She glances around the dark, empty cavern. “This is what your mind is like?”

“Since my people died,” he replies, and does the mental equivalent of putting his hands deep in his pockets. He walks around in a circle. “I was used to having telepathic connections. I never really recovered from- I’m so sorry, it’s so dark and... empty. I’ll try to bring up some-”

“No!” she says, and then blushes. She seems lighter, easier, somehow, in his mind, and he stops, trying to preserve that.

“It’s nice,” she says. “I’m- it’s so quiet. My head doesn’t hurt as much. I can’t hear everyone anymore.”

“Good,” he says. “If we-”

_If we had more time._

He tries to block that from her, even though she’s in his mind and it’s a practical impossibility. He might even succeed, somehow, because she doesn’t react.

He takes a deep breath. “If your mind weren’t under such stress, I’d teach you how to make walls, block all of them out. But the TARDIS can strengthen her own shields. That should block them just as well.”

She smiles at him. She looks exhausted, even in here, he realizes. It’s just that she’s not squinting in pain at the light, so he didn’t notice. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, and looks her straight in the eyes. “Rose, whatever you need. I will do anything you need me to, alright?”

She glances away, doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least-” he starts, and then stops himself. This isn’t a transaction. This is-

This is love. He’s been too scared to admit it, but it is. He needs to accept that.

And this is what love means. Letting someone do what they must. _Helping_ them do it. “Whatever you need,” he says instead, trying to emphasize how serious he is. “Whatever you need, Rose.”

* * *

They’ve tried, since the beginning, to keep their timeline synched with that of Earth. Obviously, it’s had its ups and downs - a notable missed year comes to mind - but he’s been doing his best.

They have a calendar in the kitchen that they mark every day, trying to keep track of when it is for Jackie. He tries his hardest to get Rose back once a month or so, tries to keep it approximately equal to how long it’s been for them, because Jackie doesn’t like it when they go too fast or too slow for her. Rose calls Mickey once a week, if only for a couple minutes, because she doesn’t want to lose contact with him. She goes to local parties and exchanges gossip with her mother and generally does her best to preserve her ties with the part of her life that lives on Earth.

This all goes to say that people _notice_ when Rose doesn’t go home.

He has a questionable track record when it comes to pulling her out of the trance. It was a little easier in the beginning, but that was when she was still angry at him, so she tended to ignore him. Now, he knows she isn’t doing it on purpose - but it’s gotten nearly impossible to get her attention anyway.

If this weren’t happening - if she were still herself - he wouldn’t have been able to stop after his first taste of telepathic connection. His telepathy has ached with a phantom pain since the day his people died. Connection with her had hurt, had _ached,_ with only a fraction of what he’s sure she must feel constantly. But the pain had been real. It hadn’t been the last echo of a dying people - it had been real, and tangible, and _hers._ Somehow that was better than being alone.

He wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to disconnect them. Besides the relief, it was _Rose,_ together with him the way that he’s never let himself hope for before. It had only taken him five minutes of connection to admit to himself (he doesn’t _think_ she heard it, but he can’t be quite sure) the depths of his regard for her. If this were normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have taken an hour for him to abandon the last of his reservations and doubts.

But things aren’t normal, and she isn’t herself. They’d only stayed connected for ten minutes, until she managed to fall asleep, and then he’d disconnected them. He’s not sure his brain could bear being linked to hers while she’s in the trance, and besides, he can’t burden her with the day-to-day running commentary of thoughts and fears and grief-

It’s not fair for him to put that on her, no matter what she would say. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it. If they were connected - _bonded,_ he corrects himself, and has to take deep breaths before he gets too deep into _that_ dream - he’d never have to work for her attention ever again. She would know, always, when he walked into the room, would know, every morning, what he’d dreamed about and how much he’d tossed and turned the night before.

Instead, he waves a hand in front of her face and gets no reaction. The only way to get her attention is if the TARDIS deems it necessary and lets her know herself, which he has... limited success with.

This becomes relevant when, one morning about a month after Rose begins this venture, her phone starts to ring.

The Doctor jumps, banging his head on the underside of the console. The sound echoes around the console room. The TARDIS is broadcasting it from whatever room it’s actually coming from, to make sure they don’t miss an important call, and she’s upped the volume _considerably._

Rose, sitting back in her armchair, doesn’t move. Which means the TARDIS has judged the call non-essential.

Which means she expects _him_ to answer it.

He stands up, sighing, to try to find her mobile. It’s not in the console room, and not in her bedroom, and not in the kitchen, and not in the library. Finally, out of desperation, he pokes his head into the ball pit room and sees the phone resting in the middle of a sea of multicolor.

“Really?” he says, aloud.

The TARDIS, in a fit of very Rose-like humor, blows him a mental raspberry.

He shakes his head, smiling, and wades out into the pit to reach the mobile. He turns back to the hallway and heads towards the kitchen as he considers the name flashing on the screen.

_Mickey :)_

Should he answer it? Rose probably won’t be out of the trance for another four hours, and after that she’ll fall asleep immediately, unless the pain is too much for her. Either way, she won’t be able to even _consider_ answering the phone for the next twelve hours, minimum. Eighteen if he’s being realistic.

On the other hand, he and Mickey have never really gotten along. He doesn’t want to have to answer this call - doesn’t want to mess around with Rose’s private business, doesn’t want to have to make conversation with Mickey, especially not with his emotions feeling as raw as they’ve felt recently.

He especially doesn’t want to have to explain that Mickey will probably never see Rose again.

He’s been trying not to think about it, is the thing. The _after._ Because this pattern they’ve fallen into is all well and good, but she’s slipping away. The universe is better, already, will be so _much_ better by the time she’s gone, but she will be _gone._

He doesn’t know how he’ll bear it. Much less tell the other people who love her. He feels like he’ll have to shout it to the universe - announce it in the galactic news, so every being knows to mourn her the way he will. So everyone knows the sacrifice she’s making.

Rose wouldn’t want him to do that.

But she’d want him to talk to her family.

He doesn’t want to talk to her family.

But he has to start somewhere, right? He has to take responsibility. He has to do this, because Rose can’t handle her personal life along with everything else, and he’s here to support her. That’s the whole _point_ of him, right now, and if he doesn’t do anything useful he might as well throw himself into the ball pit room.

And he really doesn’t want to have to do that. He thinks the guilt might kill him.

He takes a deep breath, flips open the mobile and holds it to his ear. “Mickey, nice to hear from you! Mr. Mickey himself. Micks. Mickster. The great-”

“Doctor,” interrupts Mickey, sounding like he’s rolling his eyes. “Where’s Rose?”

The Doctor stops in front of the kitchen table. He curls his fingers around the edge. “Pardon?”

“This is still her mobile number, last I checked,” says Mickey. “And you two haven’t been home in nearly a month. Rose hasn’t called me or Jackie. I even checked with Shareen, and nothing. Is everything okay?”

The Doctor closes his eyes. “‘Course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Mickey sighs. “I literally just explained- look, can I just talk to Rose?”

“Nope, sorry, no-can-do. She’s kind of busy right now-”

“With what?”

The Doctor swallows. “Very important-”

He stops, takes a deep breath. He didn’t answer this call to deflect, no matter his instincts.

“Doctor?”

“Rose is- she’s doing something monumentally stupid,” says the Doctor, and feels something in his chest shatter. “You can’t talk to her, because she’s currently using the heart of the TARDIS to make the universe a better place, which is more energy than the human body can hold. So she’s not really aware of the world around her. You can leave a message, if you’d like.”

For a few seconds, there’s nothing, just the sound of both of them breathing. Finally, Mickey says, quietly, “She absorbed the heart? Again?”

The Doctor looks up. “Yes.”

“You- What do you mean, it’s more energy than the human body can withstand?”

The Doctor closes his eyes. “Last time, I took it out of her, and it made me regenerate. Human bodies are even more fragile than Time Lord bodies. Last time she held it for fifteen minutes and didn’t remember a second. This time-”

Mickey swallows. “Doctor...”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Doctor, how long has Rose been holding the power?”

He doesn’t have to stop to think. The worst part of the curse of the Time Lords: he can keep perfect time, always can, no matter the situation. He will, only a short while from now, know exactly how long he’s had to exist without her.

“More than a month.”

“More than a- Jesus,” says Mickey, laughing slightly. Both of them know he isn’t really laughing. “Jesus Christ. And she’s- she’s still alive? How? Why haven’t you- why don’t you take it out of her again?”

“She refused,” says the Doctor, his voice ragged. He turns and catches a glance at himself in the mirror above the sink. He keeps forgetting to shave - his time-doesn’t-exist-in-the-Time-Vortex-Rose o’clock shadow is quickly nearing beard territory. His hair is a riot from stressed pacing and absent-minded mucking about with finger-combing. The bags under his eyes look bigger on the outside. He needs to take a shower - and probably get some sleep - before he worries Rose. But that’s an issue for later. “She’s still alive, yes. She’s strong. She’s bearing something that no one else will ever bear. But it won’t- she won’t be able to do it forever.”

“Then tell her to release it!” exclaims Mickey. “God, what- what is she even trying to do? What is she _doing?_ Tell her to let it go, Doctor. She listens to you. She- it’s dangerous, isn’t it. She’s not going to be able to last.”

“She won’t,” agrees the Doctor. “And- I tried, Mickey, god, I tried. But she wouldn’t listen to me. Look, time is- the events of time are a complex interweaving of many different factors. Sort of like a tapestry, if a tapestry took up six dimensions and smelled sort of like vanilla. The power that Rose is holding- the things that she’s doing, it’s like taking the terrible parts out of the tapestry. But she can’t just _cut_ them out, because time would unravel. Instead she’s- she’s reweaving it, figuring out new ways of making the fabric of spacetime, trying to make things better.”

“Oh, well, if that’s all.”

“And yes, it’s dangerous. It’s- I don’t know how much longer she has left, but it’s not very much. Months.”

“Months,” echoes Mickey.

Neither of them say anything for a moment. The Doctor waits.

Finally, Mickey, his voice stronger:

“No.”

“What?”

Mickey exhales. His voice starts getting louder. “You’re telling me Rose - Rose Tyler, _our_ Rose - is only going to be around for months? No. Not good enough.”

“Mickey-”

“No, Doctor, it’s not _good enough,_ do you hear me? You’re the _Doctor,_ the all-powerful alien, who travels around to grace poor ordinary beings with his presence. You stole Rose away from her boring life, with- with me, and with Jackie, and made it impossible for her to ever be happy with us again, and now you’re telling me she’s going to be _gone? Forever?_ Bloody- no, you don’t get to just sit there and say you _tried._ That’s _not good enough.”_

“You don’t get to-”

“You’re so much smarter than me, aren’t you? You’re smarter than everyone else. Rose hangs onto every word you say. Christ, she’s been in love with you since the first moment you met. And you’re telling me that _you_ can’t get her to give it up?”

“For god’s sake, Mickey, what do you think I _tried?”_ explodes the Doctor. “What, do you think I walked into the console room, saw the glowing, and said, ‘Yeah, sure, go on right ahead!’ You think I _didn’t_ try to-”

He slams his fist down on the table, even though Mickey can’t see him. He stares at it, pulls his palm open so he can watch his fingers move. “She won’t be swayed. She thinks that she’s doing the right thing, and the worst part is, she _is._ Do you know how many people she’s saved? Do you know how many lives she’s touched? I can’t do _anything_ here, Mickey. She is right. She is doing more than I have ever done.”

Mickey sighs. The fight seems to drain out of him, even over the line.

There’s a few moments of harsh breathing.

Eventually, he says, “...No one else will ever bear it, huh?”

The Doctor squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes. A TARDIS will only bond with one person this way, and this is the last TARDIS. Besides, it’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. No one else in the universe is stupid enough to actually follow through with something like this.”

“Or brave enough.”

He sighs, puts up his palm to concede, even though no one is watching him. “Or brave enough.”

“Brave, foolish, compassionate, huh? That pretty much sums her up.”

“Yes,” agrees the Doctor, and puts his hand down again.

There’s a full minute of silence. He runs his hand through his hair and waits. He’s spent almost a month trying to process this, and he still isn’t quite sure that this isn’t all a terrible dream. Mickey’s known for five minutes. _Give him time, Doctor,_ Rose would say.

He does.

“So. So she’s really... dying?”

The Doctor closes his eyes again.

“There’s nothing we can do?”

“I think the damage is permanent,” he says, on instinct, then takes a deep breath. “Besides- she wouldn’t want us to mess this up, just for- just to save her. All we can- All _I_ can do is make this easier for her. All I can do is make sure that I do whatever she needs, even if it destroys-”

He swallows.

“No matter the outcome.”

He shoves his hand in his pocket. Mickey doesn’t say anything for a long while.

The Doctor waits. Somehow, the presence of another person - the sense of being observed, even though Mickey probably isn’t paying close attention to him - stops him from falling into the familiar spirals he’s spent the last month going through. He keeps thinking back to Rose, sitting on the armchair in the console room, and stopping there.

No guilt. Not much pain, besides the grief that’s been his constant companion this whole time. No overthinking. Just Rose, sitting there, glowing faintly as if sunlight hit her at just the right angle.

Beautiful.

“I want to talk to Rose,” says Mickey. “Not now, but- eventually. Doctor, you _have_ to know-”

“Yes,” says the Doctor. “I know. I’ll tell her you called - she’ll want to talk to you and Jackie, and explain. I think she’s been too tired to think of it on her own.”

“Probably,” says Mickey, sounding defeated, and they’re both thinking the same thing.

Rose being too tired to remember to consider the feelings of others is the worst sign. The best proof that she’s in terrible shape.

The Doctor sighs.

“Right, then. I’ll let her know. It might be a while, the trance is long and then she usually passes out, but it won’t be a few days.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Doctor,” says Mickey, and hangs up.

The Doctor stares out at nothing for a while, until he finally musters the energy to put down the mobile and turn around. He walks slowly into the console room and stops at the doorway for a long minute, just breathing.

He gets all the way to the console, sitting underneath it, ready to start tinkering. But he finds himself getting distracted just staring at Rose.

He’s not sure he’s ever loved someone this much, this passionately. His feelings burn in his chest until it feels like they’re going to burst out of him like a regeneration, a burst of golden light. Instead it’s Rose who’s golden, glowing faintly in the soft light of the console room - he dimmed the lights a few days ago, as the headaches got worse and she got even more light sensitive - sitting peacefully.

Like she’s resting, even though her hand is twitching at her side and her eyes are moving under her eyelids.

As he watches, the air around her thickens, turns grey, like faint steam. The console monitor jumps to life. An oppressive regime that once terrorized a solar system for centuries no longer exists. It never existed.

Instead, the solar system is the galaxy’s leader in the arts of pottery and glazing.

He turns back to Rose and half-smiles, watching her. He’s so lucky to be watching this. He’s so glad to have known her. He’s so afraid of what’s going to happen next.

Her skin is still glowing.

* * *

After two and a half months, Rose drops out of the trance after only two hours.

He knows immediately what it means.

She shuts her eyes, trying to tap back into the power, but both of them know it’s useless to try. After a few minutes of failed attempts, she gives up. She tries to stand from her armchair and nearly collapses.

He rushes forward to catch her, and almost drops her to avoid being burned. She hasn’t been this hot since two weeks ago when she dismantled an entire planet’s monopolized media network, but now she’s burning. He folds his hands in the back of her sweater to avoid injury and tries to focus.

“Rose,” he says. She’s woozy, clearly, leaning her head on his shoulder and blinking up at him. “Rose,” he repeats.

“What?” she asks, squinting. “‘S bright in here.”

“Yes,” he says, his heart aching. He lowered the lights for the third time last week. “Rose, what were you doing before you dropped out of the trance? Did you leave anything unfinished?”

He’s not a god, doesn’t have her power, but he can do a quick and dirty patch job if he needs to. Make sure the fabric of time doesn’t unravel completely. He might have to be complicit in the horrors she was trying to prevent, but at least the universe will survive.

She focuses on him, with effort. “No, of course not,” she says. “I never acted until I’d figured everything out beforehand.”

Her gaze shifts to somewhere over his shoulder. “It’s happening, isn’t it? Time’s up.”

The heat of her skin bleeds through all of his layers.

He is not ready for this. He will never be ready for this. He swallows. “I think so.”

She looks up at him, smiles at him. “I don’t regret it. You know that, right?”

“You did well, Rose. You shouldn’t regret this. You shouldn’t-” his heart is aching, “ever feel guilty. You did so much good.”

“Yeah, I know that,” she says, her tongue darting out to poke out the corner of her smile. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise. But I meant all of it. You hear me, Doctor? _All_ of it. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

He would connect them telepathically, except he’s not sure he’d be able to bring himself to disconnect them in time, and being inside her mind while she-

It would be more painful than anything he’s ever been through. He’s been in enough people’s minds as they- well. He can’t take it again.

More specifically, being in Rose’s mind _during_ would destroy him.

“I don’t regret a second of it,” she says. “I’m so glad I met you, you know that?”

He smiles at her. “Me too, Rose Tyler. Me too.”

She yawns suddenly, and he tries not to pay attention to the clock ticking on the edge of his thoughts. Two hours, if they’re lucky. Less, probably. “Let’s get you into a bed, shall we?”

“Sure,” she says, her eyes falling closed again.

He wastes precious seconds just watching her breath, in and out. He doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t want to say goodbye.

He’s going to have to. For her sake, he’s going to make it as comfortable as he possibly can.

She smiles in her sleep. He smiles at her.

He takes her to find that bed.

* * *

“Sometimes,” says Donna, watching him. “Sometimes I think you need someone to stop you.”

The Doctor stares at her for a long minute. Finally, he looks down. “Yeah.”

_Christ, she’s been in love with you since the first moment you met. And you’re telling me that_ you _can’t get her to give it up?_

He clears his throat and looks back up. “Thanks then, Donna. Good luck. And just... be magnificent.”

She smiles at him. Then she frowns.

“Oh, what is it now?”

Donna makes a face at him, turning serious. “That friend of yours. What was her name?”

The Doctor looks out at the falling snow around them. He’d never made it snow for her. She’d spent her last two and a half months without stepping foot out of the TARDIS. Without seeing Earth again.

He wishes, now, that he had thought to do this for her. Just once, maybe, but still.

“Rose. Her name was Rose.”

“Rose,” repeats Donna, looking at him like she understands how he’s feeling. “And you lost her, did you? There’s no hope of getting her back?”

He chuckles softly. “No.”

She’s all around him, is the thing. He can feel her presence. Rose Tyler is gone, and he will never stop feeling that loss, but Bad Wolf spent _two months_ reweaving the tapestry of time. His time senses are bathed in a golden warmth, in the feeling of Rose. They have been since he first came out of the Time Vortex, just before meeting Donna.

He’s not sure he’ll ever stop feeling it. He doesn’t ever want to stop feeling it.

“I’m sorry,” says Donna, and smiles sadly at him. “Not a terrible world, though, is it? I mean, I talk a big talk, but... it’s Christmas, and it’s snowing, and we met today, even though you’re a daft alien and my fiance was involved with alien spiders. Things could be worse.”

The Doctor smiles back, thinking about it. In the universe, there are thousands of equality movements that recently had unexpected financial windfalls. There is a highly successful, emotionally complex fantasy book series that only exists because the author wasn’t killed by armed robbers in xer home late one night. There is a new color, for the species who can see light in several dimensions. It’s similar to lilac, if you took lilac several steps to the left.

There is no more Rose Tyler. But her impact lives on. The universe will never erase her: her actions will never be meaningless.

And there will always be some part of her that will hover around the corners of his senses.

Maybe that’s enough. The universe is a better place because of her, and he’s a better person because of her, and he’s never going to lose her. Never completely. He and the bits of Rose Tyler that are left in the universe will forever mourn her together, and he can cope with that.

He grins at Donna, smiling with a quiet, uncomplicated joy for the first time in a long time. “You know what,” he says. “I think they really could be.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry.
> 
> on a slightly lighter note, hello, y'all! i am indeed alive! sorry to have gone radio silent and not posted anything for... what, two months? writer's block is a thing that happens to me, apparently. i think that's why the style of this fic is so different, but i'm blaming it on doctor pov and moving on lmao.
> 
> i am [on tumblr](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com)! follow me there for whatever the heck i'm talking about atm, which right now is sarcastic history liveblogging. it's A Thing. i'm always up for talking about doctor who, and 10rose, and the inherent tragedy of sacrifice, so stop by! for more posts on that subject, along with behind-the-scenes stuff, feel free to check out [the story tag](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-just-look-and-you-will-see).
> 
> also, because no one heard me last time i said this, i have another 10rose song rec :D it's called "fair" by the amazing devil, and it's VERY tender and a lot less angsty than adele. it's actually so tender that you might start crying anyways, but at least it's not because it's sad? (also, "marbles" from that album is very tentoo/rose, but you didn't hear it from me.) i hope y'all are able to stay safe and healthy.


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